


Le héros et le loup

by tsunkiku



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ?????, Cheating? tbh it's implied fake relationship, Hand Jobs, JJ is a furry. Otabek finds out maybe he is one too, JJBek Week, Jealousy, M/M, Mixed Media, Peer Pressure, Post-Canon, Puppybek, Texting, day 5: masquerade, jj encourages otabek to embrace his interests, texts, unrequited pining, very brief porn mostly they are just cute and jj is supportive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 06:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunkiku/pseuds/tsunkiku
Summary: Otabek felt ridiculous.What the hell was he thinking?Why had he agreed to this?How had he allowed that conversation to go on for as long as it had?Why was he here now, in this apartment, on this sofa, wine glass untidily thrust upon him, wielded awkwardly by his too-large hands?Why did the cold claws of want drawing circles on the back of his neck feel like they were piercing him all the way down to his bones, tightening ribbons around his thighs, inhaling each measured breath from his lungs until there was nothing left but Jean-Jacques Leroy and all the confusing things he’d said?





	Le héros et le loup

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains embedded images that may not appear correctly formatted on mobile. Apologies.

Otabek felt ridiculous.  
  
What the hell was he thinking?  
  
Why had he agreed to this?  
  
How had he allowed that conversation to go on for as long as it had?  
  
Why was he here now, in this apartment, on this sofa, wine glass untidily thrust upon him, wielded awkwardly by his too-large hands?  
  
Why did the cold claws of want drawing circles on the back of his neck feel like they were piercing him all the way down to his bones, tightening ribbons around his thighs, inhaling each measured breath from his lungs until there was nothing left but Jean-Jacques Leroy and all the confusing things he’d said?  
  
God damn it, he knew why. JJ had a way with words, with slithering convincing platitudes into his ear that kept him wound up around his long fingers. It always surprised Otabek how easily JJ was able to bully him into some new ridiculous escapade, right up until it was happening, and then it just felt inevitable. He was magnetic, and Otabek’s will was iron. JJ’s smiles melted it easily, and then it bent. It had been this way since they had been dumb kids and JJ had adopted as his own when Otabek had first moved to Canada to train. Anyone and everyone was captivated by JJ’s splendour. Otabek wasn’t the first, wasn’t the last, wasn’t even the worst for it.  
  
It had never been something like this though. Tossing toilet paper over some nerd’s house or hacking Leo’s Facebook to send obscene images to that Chinese kid he gushed about wasn’t the same thing.  
  
Admitting Yuri had been bad enough.  
  
Fuck. Yuri.  
  
Every time Otabek remembered Yuri Plisetsky he could feel the contents of his chest leaking out between his toes. It was at the same time exquisitely humiliating and the cleansing boil of relief. It wasn’t a secret anymore, this thing he’d cradled inside of himself for years. His boyish admiration had bloomed and grown until it’s roots had strangled the word, and still his verdant crush on Yuri continued to block out the sun. In Otabek’s opinion, he considered it well repressed. Even JJ hadn’t discovered it until Barcelona, and their date together, and then Yuri’s exhibition skate where he’d stuck his fingers into his mouth, and then everyone seemed to sort of know, and then it had all spilled over from there too fast and too thick. Yuri himself seemed to be oblivious, however, or acted like it. He texted Otabek as normal. They skyped with the familiar awkwardness of friends who didn’t know each other well enough yet to just talk without something else to occupy the space between them. They tagged each other in photos of cute animals on Instagram. The length and breadth of their relationship was firmly platonic, and Otabek yearned painfully for the days before it, when he’d been able to imagine Yuri Plisetsky falling immediately and unashamedly in love with him from day one.  
  
He had been able to tell that JJ _wanted_ to be sympathetic.  He had read it in the twitch of his mouth, the weight of his hand slapping on his shoulder. “It’s not all bad, OB,” his honking affirmations sounded off key when Otabek failed to respond, but resiliently he persevered anyway. “You still got me, right?”  
  
Yes, he still had JJ. Otabek was reminded miserably of that consolation prize every day of his life. He watched JJ and Isabella coo at one another like a pair of courting pigeons at the rink edge while he stretched, feeling an unreasonable flush of hatred. Isabella was one of the nicest people Otabek had ever met. She had to be, to put up with JJ and laugh at every single one of his jokes. Infallibly tolerant. There was something almost cartoonishly perfect about their relationship that Otabek also found he resented, not knowing why, but feeling it thud in his chest every time he watched the way JJ would obsessively curl a limb around his prize whenever a camera fell on them.  
  
He started to imagine that maybe he was compensating for something. Found evidence where there was none. Invented confrontations in his head. What was he compensating for?  
  
Small penis? Absolutely possible.

But people joked about it too often, JJ would have faltered by now if that was the case. Also, too obvious.  
  
Failure? Isabella was his success, separate from skating, a medal no one could rob from him, and thus he polished her daily.  
  
Unlikely. JJ wasn’t cruel like that, besides, he clearly felt affection for her that belied more than callous ownership.  
  
Homosexuality?  
  
The possibility crawled in the basin of Otabek’s stomach like an angry wasp. It stung every time JJ touched him.  
  
For the most part, Otabek managed to ignore it. There was plenty enough available material to agonise over that it was a waste to focus on mind on just one for too long. His loss in Barcelona felt like the most sensible receptacle to funnel his frustration into, and so he did so. Wearing himself out on the rink and in a gym meant that he fell into bed at night too exhausted for angst. The last thing he did, every night, was check his phone and to quickly browse his newsfeed for something new to tag Yuri in. He did this religiously, afraid that if he neglected in this nightly duty, then Yuri would think he was growing cold. It was bad enough that he was too afraid to text him. At this rate, cats on Instagram was all they shared.  
  
Otabek had sighed, clenching his eyes shut tight against a wave of an emotion had bubbled behind his vision, pressing his phone up against his forehead.  
  
Why had Yuri not liking him back suddenly started to hurt so much?  
  
Hurriedly, he had tagged Yuri in the first thing he saw – some art a fan had drawn as Yuri as a cat, or something – and rolled over in bed and begged for sleep to take him. He would feel better in the morning, he told himself, like he always did. Yuri would have replied to him with an equitably cute image of his own, Otabek would respond with an appropriate cat emoji, and then he could go and eat his breakfast and pretend to be happy for fifteen minutes before he remembered that was all they had.  
  
The morning came, and Otabek had rolled over, bleary from sleep, awaking ten minutes before the scream of his alarm, like he always did. He fumbled half blind from his phone, and squinting against the rush of light, it took him several seconds to understand what he seeing.

  
  
  
What the hell?   
  
Otabek snapped on his lamp, all at once awake, and sat up to respond, fingers clicking angrily across the keyboard. JJ and his insufferable sense of humour was routine, but rarely was he absurd without explanation, and Otabek wasn't a tolerant morning person. Potentially this was some harmless English insult to which he'd yet to become acquainted, and ought to google, but it was easier to be unfair.   
  


  
  
Unsurprisingly, the reply came almost immediately.  
  
  
  
Otabek could just imagine him, curled up in his blankets, long limbs somehow splayed everywhere. An artful stretch of tanned stomach exposed to dawn light. Dark hair the colour of slate sticking up at a hundred different lazy angles. The warm space next to him on the mattress that begged to be occupied. The hornet in his stomach buzzed in fury.  
  
  
  
Ugh. Attempting to communicate with JJ through text was like deciphering hieroglyphics. 

  


JJ generally responded well to French, like a dog responding well to a certain tone of voice. He smirked as he held that thought, eyes bright with scorn as he curled back around his pillow, waiting for JJ's reply. He couldn't say why every breath felt borrowed; it had been that way with JJ for a long time now, and he tried hard just to ignore it. Texting him had just felt like a secret all of a sudden, one day.   
  
  
  
Otabek's heart wriggled like a fish in his hands. Slimy, cold to the touch. Unwilling to yield to sense, it wrestled with his judgement. Those words didn't mean anything. They didn't. This was just JJ being a fool like he was always was. Taunting him. Asshole. He knew the what Otabek was going through! He knew about Yuri! He knew about all the years he'd pined for him like a fucking idiot, and he knew how disappointed he felt with how things had turned out. He had to know about the way Otabek looked at him. He had to know what every time he looked at Isabella that his body begged to feel jealousy. He was meant to be his friend, so why was he acting this way, in spite of all those things?  
  


  
  
He forgot his own anguish for a moment in favour of righteousness.   
  
  
  
Frowning, Otabek thumbed away from the conversation to refer to instagram instead. It had been a little different to what he usually tagged Yuri in, being that it was fanart, but that wasn't such a big deal, right? Upon inspection, Otabek still couldn't see a problem. Yuri drawn as a cat, all slim limbs and delightful, haughty beauty. Fangs peeked out from soft, white lips that curved at the edges. His tail half curved around his thigh, promising something. He was dressed in his exhibition costume and it was cute. It was cute! What was the big deal?   
  
A new message pinged, then another. Tutting, Otabek returned to his messages, expecting JJ to produce some lacklustre commentary about the art style to which Otabek could ignore fitfully and then move on with his life.  
  
   
  
Otabek's chest had turned to rock. His lungs were full of pebbles. His heart was lump of clay. It got stuck to everything when it tried to beat.   
  
His skin felt hot even as his insides felt stone cold. 

  
  
  
Shit.   
  
Shit shit shit.   
  
Otabek didn't know what he thought, and he didn't want to.   
  
With trembling fingers he hashed out his reply. Deflect, yes, that was what he had to do. Just punch away from this tender spot and hope that JJ was too distracted to take notice. 

  


  
  


  
  
Otabek's eyes were stinging. This was worse than everyone knowing about Yuri. It was worse than Yuri knowing about Yuri. Everything was happened at once, a hundred different threads of insecurities all tying up together in a tangle, tripping his heart. It wasn't fair. How come JJ got everything. He got to win, he got Isabella, he got to be handsome and confident and outgoing, and he got the better of him without fail, every single time. If Yuri Plisetsky had the eyes of the soldier, then Otabek Altin had the eyes of a coward.  
  


Otabek tossed his phone aside. He was done with this conversation, done with the accusations, done with JJ. He stormed into the shower, angrily taking out his frustration on a bottle of shower gel as he squirted out far too much into his hand. Raking hands across his body, he thought about the image he’d tagged Yuri in and he thought about JJ and he thought about what he thought about both those things. It wasn’t like he _didn’t_ find that picture… interesting. He just hadn’t paid it any real mind. It had been a blip on the edge of sleep, not a secret message. Is that what JJ was trying to imply? That he was trying to communicate something to Yuri that he himself didn’t yet understand?  
  
No. There wasn’t any of that in what JJ had said. They hadn’t been about Yuri, or Otabek’s feelings for Yuri; it had been about JJ and what he’d thought about Otabek liking that image in particular. It had been about Otabek saying he was hotter than Yuri.  
  
As a wolf.  
  
Or something.  
  
Probably.  
  
JJ’s texts were hard to understand at the best of times.  
  
By the time Otabek returned to his phone, dried and dressed and bushy tailed, ready for the day, he felt a strange calm. An acceptance. There was no turning back from this.

Seeing that JJ had messaged him again in his absence did not shock him, but his sincerity struck a chord that was a tune well apart from all the others.

Otabek felt himself smile.   
  


That was how Otabek had ended up on JJ’s sofa, feeling like he was made of all straight edges, wine glass perched between his fingers. He knew the sequence of events, played them out in his head, but that didn’t make things any easier to comprehend.  
  
JJ’s apartment was nice in the way everything else that received JJ’s gaze was nice; it was expensive and loudly modern. Otabek honestly expected some more self-portraits or maybe a sculpture. At least a dash more nauseating opulence here or there (he was the King, after all), but these things were conspicuously absent from JJ’s space. The cross above the non-functioning fireplace felt like an answer, glaring down at Otabek like a disappointed tutor, arms folded. What was it they said again? Something about asceticism yielding virtue? Philosophy didn’t seem like JJ’s strong point, nor did being humble. Maybe he just liked to have the space to think. It was nothing like Yuri’s bedroom, plastered floor to ceiling with gaudy leopard print and posters and carpeted with yesterday’s clothing and cat hair.  
  
Otabek thought of his own room, empty of artifice. Not because he liked the space, or because it was some kind stylish aesthetic choice plucked out to impress the visitors he never had. It was because he was boring. It was because Otabek cared about only three things, and two of those belonged at the rink only a mile from his apartment. There was no need to let them leak into where he slept, too.  
  


“You comfy? The wine nice? It warm enough in here? You hungry? I got falafel!”  
  
JJ was an image in a v-neck and khaki shorts. Otabek rarely got to see his calves. They were hairy and wiry strong, layered thick with years of muscle. The arched down to his ankles and then his feet, bruised and ugly and misshapen. Feet that carried JJ to victory. Otabek decided that he loved them.  
  
His mouth went very dry.  
  
He took a sip of wine. It tasted like any other wine. It tasted like the bitter bile of nerves burning at the back of his throat. He ought to speak.  
  
“Why falafel?”  
  
JJ looked a little crestfallen. “You don’t like falafel?”  
  
“N-no, I mean yes, I mean no. Look, JJ, it’s just—”  
  
But JJ was already nose deep in his fridge, his hollering echoing from within its cavernous depths. “I got, uh, some cheese? Some chicken? Oh, there’s some spring onions too. I could make you some noodles? Are rice noodles okay?”  
  
“JJ.”  
  
“Ouias? Oh, I could make you cheesy pasta? I know you like that! I could make enough for both of us to take for lunch tomorrow too, and then—”  
  
“JJ, I’m not hungry. Please, just.” He sighed, fingers pinching the space between his eyebrows, warding off a headache. “Please just come and sit with me and talk to me.”  
  
For a moment, it seemed as though JJ might refuse, stand his ground and continue to cluck around trying to forage for his friend, distracting them both from the issue at hand. But then, he was drifting towards him, a ghost of his usual smirk curling his lips. Something about it made Otabek’s heart clench and he didn’t know why. He had never seen JJ like this. He watched him take his seat, carefully measuring the distance between them, and continued to stare as JJ took his first sip of wine. The movement of his adam’s apple was a hypnotic pendulum, a passage of time that made Otabek’s fingers itch where they touched his own glass. He drank as well, for something to do, to occupy his lips.

“About that photo…”  
  
Oh god, here it comes. Otabek kept his eyes fixed firmly on demurely socked feet. Even that part of him was saline, boring. Where JJ walked around barefoot and uninhibited, a free man, Otabek shivered in layers of protective cotton.  
  
“Well, actually, it’s about more than that photo. OB, I’ve been thinking, for a while, I mean. About—”  
  
Why was Otabek always content with being second best? Why did he let that happen? Why was he okay with losing? Skating, Yuri, JJ.  
  
“—a lot of stuff. Its not just about the furry thing, I mean I guess it kind of is in a way, you know, like its related—”  
  
It didn’t have to be this way. He could change it. He could make things happen if he wanted to. It was just like making a jump. He had to mean it. He had to feel it in every nerve. He had to want it.  
  
“—tangentially. Anyway, what I’m trying to say, it’s like, you know, it’s a complicated thing and there’s a lot of layers. For a long time now, I—”  
  
Otabek wanted it, so he took it.  
  
JJ’s lips were hot and hard underneath his own, stiff with shock. Otabek could taste the wine on them, and something else that was probably JJ. Had he kissed anyone before? Otabek realised that he couldn’t remember the rest of his life while he was trapped in his moment. It didn’t matter, any of it. JJ yielded, lips parting, and the heat of his mouth felt like an embrace, encircling his entire body and filling up with a sweet, nectarous warmth.  
  
He was being embraced. At some point JJ had retrieved the wine glass from his grip and placed it on the coffee table, and now his arms were around him, pulling him closer. Otabek didn’t fight it. He allowed himself to be pulled in, blood pounding in his ears like an applause.  


He didn’t pull away until JJ did; it was as if they both predicted it. Even then, it wasn’t far, their lips parted only by a few inches and hurried, warm breathing. Otabek knew his face was beetroot red and he didn’t care.  
  
“Jean-jacques..”  
  
“Otabek.” Even now, JJ’s voice was thick with confidence, but it was different from before. It had a growl in it. It made Otabek’s hair stand on end and his pants get tighter. He shuffled himself forward, a centimetre, and found himself unintentionally delighted by the friction the sofa offered. Shit.  
  
“JJ, this is—”  
  
He heard the uncertainty in his own voice, the taint of insecurity which he knew didn’t suit him. Otabek wasn’t a nervous person. He was taciturn and stoic and masculine. Men like him didn’t quail when someone kissed them. Men like him didn’t doubt themselves or anything they did. That wasn’t how he skated. Why couldn’t he kiss like he skated? JJ did. Or at least, it felt that way to Otabek. He felt JJ's worship in each roll of his tongue, the shape of his smirk.  
  
“Do you not want to? That’s okay.”  
  
“No, I do, but..”  
  
JJ took that as an invitation. He dipped his head down, pressing his lips against the pillar of Otabek's throat. His lips felt different there, hotter. A voice in Otabek suggested that maybe this was JJ's attempt to give him a chance to speak without his lips smothered in Canadian. “How do I make it okay for you, Otabek?” Each time he said his name it felt like a gift, each syllable tied up with a bow that was made of fire.  
  
“I. I don’t know, maybe, just.”  
  
Otabek stumbled. What would make it okay? What did he want? His mind was slow, too focused on following the pace of JJ’s mouth to begin to make sense of his own desires. He tried harder. He thought about what had brought him here, tails curling around thighs, the hair that furred above the bottom of the v of JJ’s shirt. Something that would remove him from this act and make what he felt for Yuri still feel sanitised.  
  
He wanted to kiss Yuri on a balcony and buy him flowers. He wanted to hold his hand. He wanted to be boyfriends. He wanted to wait until Yuri was eighteen and then make love to him some place where they could hear the sound of the sea from their bed.  
  
That wasn’t what he wanted from JJ, and he had to make sure of it. 

“That picture. You said, if it was me, if it was like a wolf, then,” something snagged. JJ’s soft mouthing turned into teeth. Did that mean he liked it? Otabek never fretted over what JJ might or might not like about him until now, but now pleasing him felt like it mattered more than anything.  
  
Neither seemed to breathe as JJ’s hand slid from his waist to the front of his jeans, to the swell that was almost painful. Otabek’s moan was choked, half way between shock and longing and pleasure and revulsion at himself. JJ’s palm hovered there lamely, waiting until Otabek finally yielded and pushed against it, needy and uncomplicated as a cat seeking petting. Otabek inhaled, feeling JJ’s lips tighten their grip against his neck. He wanted more but wasn’t sure how to ask for it in any other way by pushing against him harder. JJ understood, grinding pressure against the bulge until Otabek whined.

“Not ‘like the picture’,” JJ corrected him without malice, though his voice was rough around the edges, sharp as his fangs. “Like you. You like that. My little wolfy Otabek.” Lips dragged up along his jaw, teasing his desperate mouth, to his earlobe. JJ fed the words into him like he was feeding him another kiss, indulging in the taste of every word. “I want to lift up your tail and fuck you on this sofa just like that.”

Otabek crumbled. The words were nonsense; he didn't have a tail to lift up, obviously. So why was the thought making him turn into warm syrup? Was it just the thought of JJ fucking him that did it?   
  
Who cared?  
  
He didn't resist because he didn't want to, when JJ's hand moved to undo his fly, and then retreated to unzip his own. Strong hands seized Otabek by the hips and prompted him into movement, dragging him on top of JJ so that Otabek's thick thighs were coiled on either side of his own. Otabek's knees were shoved with almost painful pressure up into the back of the sofa, body orientated as close to JJ as it possibly could. God, he could feel all of him like this. Not _all_ of him, but enough that it felt like it. JJ was all beneath him, mouth and cock and dark hair and sinewy muscle and words with jagged edges. Otabek didn't let himself think, couldn't, didn't need to. He arched his hips forward, an inch, until he felt their bodies flush in their hard, desperate ache. It was as though JJ was waiting for this, patiently immobile until Otabek made his choice, because it was only when Otabek thrust forward again that he wrapped his hand around them both.   
  
"Look at you," it was unusual to hear awe in JJ's voice at all. Hearing it and knowing that it was because of him was better than anything Otabek had ever felt. It howled through him like a screech of his motorbike against tarmack. It was the roar of the crowd as he landed a salchow. It was Yuri's intensity. It was everything all at once. "God, you're so sexy, Otabek. You're so, so good for me, baby. Wolfy. Aren't you?"

JJ's hand was moving.   
  
It should have been too rough, too dry, but JJ had spit into his palm and it was so much warmer than lube, and his hand was calloused where it had bit the ice too often, and he was pushing them together and jerking his wrist in rhythm with every one of Otabek's strangled breaths and it was too much, too much.   
  
"Jean-J _ah_ cques!"  
  
It didn't take long, a matter of minutes before JJ's hand thrusted them both frantically towards release. Otabek's body went tense, every muscle curling impossibly tight. He tried to warn him, but all the words melted together into liquid that spilled from his lips in a formless shout of ecstasy. Everything went slack. His heart felt like it could beat again, thudding in his throat to flush bruises where JJ's teeth had pressed into his skin.   
  
Otabek was struggling to catch his breath, body thudding in the warm, wet aftermath. He looked down, head slumped on JJ’s solid shoulder, at the sight of the both of them inside of JJ’s fist. JJ’s hand was a mess. Their clothes were a mess. The sofa was a mess too.  
  
Otabek was a mess. He didn’t know whether he ought to laugh or cry. Maybe kiss him? Do it again? Do more?  
  
The answer came with JJ’s nose pressing against the back of his neck, nuzzling against his skin. He didn’t want him to let go of them, not yet. Just a second more like this, basking in the after glow of the amazing, awful things they had just felt together. Otabek’s hand reaffirmed it’s grip on JJ’s shirt, hoping that he knew what it meant and what he wanted.  
  
“Otabek,” JJ’s voice was steadier than Otabek knew his own would be, so he didn’t try to reply. Instead he just nodded, grunting his acknowledgement.  
  
“Maybe this is the wrong time, but for sure, dude: you’re a yiffer for sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry everyone.
> 
> this is the first and last time i ever publish porn i promise. 
> 
> also i don't own an iphone so i have no idea if that's what imessage actually looks like please forgive me. 
> 
> also also otabek never stopped training in canada or something idk i was too lazy to come up with a reason why they were still in the same country please don't @ me. 
> 
> for jjbek week on tumblr.


End file.
